


in my life

by allonsy_gabriel



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, M/M, Sad, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, i'll tag better in the morning, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 22:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12969636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: John never thought that this is where they’d be—him pleading Alexander to speak, Alexander silent and still as stone. But here they were, in their living room—their living room, covered in Christmas decorations they’d put up a week ago, together. John’s face was tacky with tears and Alexander was standing in the corner, his back unusually straight and his eyes dull.





	in my life

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in two hours and a lot of sam smith and dodie clark

There was something wrong, that much was certain. Alexander was avoiding his eyes, glancing around the room rapidly. Couch, floor, ceiling, door, television, coffee table, floor, couch, door, ceiling—

“ _ Alexander _ .”

He froze.

It was unsettling. Alexander was  _ never _ still, couldn’t stand it, had to keep moving, always working at to an inaudible rhythm, tapping and buzzing and thrumming with an energy that was nigh on impossible to describe.

John ran his hand through his hair, wincing as they caught on his curls. “Alexander, sweetheart, you’ve got to  _ talk to me _ ,” he begged.

John never thought that this is where they’d be—him pleading Alexander to speak, Alexander silent and still as stone. But here they were, in their living room— _ their living room _ , covered in Christmas decorations they’d put up a week ago,  _ together _ . John’s face was tacky with tears and Alexander was standing in the corner, his back unusually straight and his eyes dull.

He didn’t even  _ look _ like himself. It was if someone had grafted Alexander’s face onto a robot or mannequin.

“I have to leave,” Alexander said abruptly, his tone cold and  _ empty _ .

John had seen this once or twice before, on particularly bad days, when Alexander’s dark circles had dark circles and he’d stayed up all night the night before, shaken by nightmares, but even then he’d let John pull him into his chest and run his fingers through Alexander’s hair.

It was if emotions were too much—too exhausting, too difficult, too painful—so Alexander just  _ turned them off _ .

“What do you  _ mean _ , leave?” John demanded, taking a step closer.

For a moment, Alexander seemed to crack, his facade slipping for a moment, and John could see the  _ fear _ and the  _ sorrow _ behind his eyes, but then the mask returned.

“I mean I’m  _ leaving _ ,” he replied, his voice catching almost imperceptibly on the last word.

“Leaving  _ what _ , Alexander?” John asked, his voice almost a whisper.

He dreaded the answer.

“You.”

It was short, it was harsh, it lacked any of Alexander’s usual eloquence or passion, and it hurt John more than any bullet ever could.

“ _ Why _ ?”

Alexander’s eyes slipped from John’s again, drifting to the floor as his hands clenched and unclenched. “I have to,” he said, his voice still steady.

“That’s  _ bullshit _ ,” John snapped, trying to hide the scratchiness of his throat and the fresh wave of tears leaking from his eyes.

Alexander’s flinch was almost indiscernible, the subtle shake to his shoulders unnoticeable unless you knew to look for it.

John took another step forward. “You don’t  _ have _ to leave. Just—just take off your coat, sit down, I’ll make apple cider and we can  _ talk _ . Please, just  _ stay _ .”

“I’m not crazy,” Alexander replied, looking up to meet John’s eyes. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes shone in the Christmas lights. “And I’m not  _ stupid _ . I-I’ve seen this— _ done this _ —before. It doesn’t  _ last _ . You think it will now, but sooner or later you’re going to realize it  _ won’t _ because it  _ never does _ . People always leave. That’s what people  _ do _ . I’m just getting it out of the way before we end up bitter and resentful. This—this whole thing never stood a chance, John. Everything ends in goodbyes. Even—”

Alexander had to stop, had to look away and wipe his cheek with his sleeve before continuing.

“Even this. Even us.”

“ _ No _ !” John was shouting now, his voice raw. “ _ No _ , not ‘even us’. We—we’re not  _ like that _ , Alexander. We’re not going to end up miserable and sad and—and  _ whatever the hell you think is happening _ . I don’t know when the fuck you got this whole ‘quit while you’re ahead’ idea in your head, but it’s  _ bullshit _ ! I don’t  _ care _ what you’ve seen, or—or  _ done _ , or  _ whatever _ . I  _ love you _ .”

“You’re going to leave,” Alexander said, his voice lifeless and resigned and a million other things that Alexander should  _ never be _ . He said like a fact, a truth that he’d accepted long ago, and it left John feeling as if he’d been gutted. How long had Alexander been thinking this? How long had he’d been convinced that John would just  _ quit _ on him?

“No I won’t,” John shot back.

“You can’t be sure.”

“Good thing I’ve never listened when people have told me what I can and can’t do, huh?”

Another step closer. If John simply  _ reached out _ , he’d have Alexander in his arms.

“Everyone leaves,” Alexander said, his voice dropping to a whisper, his eyes dropping to the carpet.

There was a moment of silence.

John couldn’t stand it.

“Fuck everyone,” he said, pulling Alexander into his chest. “Fuck everyone and fuck goodbyes and fuck leaving.”

Alexander’s mask shattered.

John held him under the lights of the Christmas tree and swore that he’d do his damnedest to guarantee there’d never be another goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> it's too late for a proper note. i'll probably fix this in the morning but maybe Not so
> 
> don't Yell this time but maybe just... speak. what you think.
> 
> t h a n k s


End file.
